


My Dearest Shadow

by InsominiacArrest



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angela works too much, Blackwatch Era, F/F, Palming, Science discussion, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsominiacArrest/pseuds/InsominiacArrest
Summary: Don't look too long.Don't dwell on it.Don't kiss your own reflection.Don't open your legs to tall woman with red hair.Angela had a lot of rules, science was built on rules and so was her life. But just as Overwatch is falling apart into civil war and Angela takes a few of her own rules back.





	My Dearest Shadow

Angela’s joints crack as she reaches for the ceiling and arches her back. She hears a couple popping sounds and there is a guilty satisfaction from the noise.

She gets the blood flowing in her body, doing another stretch and shaking some feeling into her fingertips. Angela was familiar with long nights and she could already feel this one getting longer.

She rubs her eyes and tries to locate a clock on the wall, there were no windows down here and it was easy to lose track of whether it was still night time or if it was already morning. She frowns.  

It was a small box-like room with only a sturdy little coffee pot, a scuffed sink and a couple drawers where people stored dead batteries and plastic utensils they were caching like squirrels. She sighs when she comes up empty for clocks.

The cold of the drafty basement air nips at her neck and Angela tugs the rim of her turtleneck a little higher.

She reaches down and grabs her mug of coffee tightly to ward off the chill. She had been drinking cold Dunkin Donuts for hours now and it had finally been time to steal herself away to the lab kitchen and right that. The kitchen smelled like mildew and something damp, but the coffee machine worked and there was a basket of energy bars by the door.

She downs half of her first fresh pot and tries to chew through a cliff bar, she ends up failing and discarding the rest of it. She found it difficult to get herself to eat when the thoughts in her head were spinning like a loose Ferris wheel through a bustling city metro.

“Oh,” She sighs and cracks her spine again, it was time to head back. Her break didn’t feel long, but the anxiety to return was already pressing on her heels. It already felt like she had been gone too long.

Angela turns toward the even colder hallway and blurrily makes her way back toward the chemical smell and dull buzz of more than a couple light sockets plugged in in her lab.

She hums a tune to herself and ignores how isolated her footsteps sound in the dead emptiness of the lab. It was long past working hours, it might even be the weekend as far as she knew.

She had the place to herself.

Angela waits for the camera to scan her face and authorize her before letting the doors to her lab slide open.

“Es Buurebüebli mani nid, dass gseht me mir wohl a,” she sings to herself softly as she walks through the entranceway, a song about a girl disliking the local farm boy. 

Angela enters her workspace and her thoughts hone back in on the oxidation problem she was trying to solve earlier in the regeneration process. She’s going over lists in her head when she sees a form in the corner of her eye and almost drops her entire mug of coffee.

A shadow shifts in front of her workbench like a faceless cloud, Angela’s heart tightens in her chest.

The cloud hums, “fascinating.”

“What,” Angela took a step back, a figure was pouring over Angela’s notes open on her table.

Angela slaps her pockets and belt loudly for the holster she was supposed to have on.

“You won’t find it,” The voice asserts coolly, Angela grits her teeth as she recognizes it, “I saw your gun discarded by the coat rack.” The older woman clicks her tongue at her as if to reprimand.

Angela can feel her pulse spike, “I wouldn’t think I would need it.” She balls up her hands, “What are you doing here?”  
  
Moira O’Deorain turned toward her slowly, leaving her left hand still lingering on the pages of the notebook. “You should know you always need it,” her gaze was a knife point, “still so young…”  
  
Angela holds her gaze, “I asked what you were doing here.”  
  
Moira straightens up, raising herself to her impressive 6’2 and Angela tries not to shrink down into the floor, she reminds herself she was a woman of science too. They were peers.

Moira is slow like an oncoming fog rolling onto a small town, “shouldn’t colleagues share information? That’s how we make progress.” She pauses, her mouth stretches into something that isn’t a smile, “Together.”

Angela feels her skin crawl and she shifts from side to side, she tries to study the blue and brown of Moira’s eyes for something but comes up empty.

Angela creeps closer, trying to get herself to untense, “I’m afraid Dr. O’Deorain that our work departs dramatically. I’m not sure you’ll find anything of interest.”  
  
“On the contrary,” Moira felt like a fixed vortex in the room, unmoving, sucking everything into it. “I find many things of interest in here.” Moira’s eyes drift across the room and her fingers trace the text like they might caress the very letters with a lovers touch. “Your work on complete cell regeneration is a piece of pure genius." Her eyes flick back to her like, "The power of life in your hands.”  
  
Angela didn’t like the way she said that, it dripped and crawled across her skin like a living ink spill. Moira was coiling to strike and Angela could read people well enough to recognize the type of compliments she didn’t want to receive.

“Yes,” Angela says stiffly and straightens her lab coat, “thank you.” She flicks her wrist, “though I’m sure you understand that I should get back to it.” She gives her a steely look, “progress, as you were mentioning, is made with dedication.”

Angela thinks she almost catches Moira rolling her eyes, just a hint of it.

“I’ve heard you’ve been spending more and more time in your lab Doctor.” Moira was the one studying her now.

“Yes, well, I’m perfecting the Valkyrie suit.” Angela is torn between hovering closer or running as fast as she can toward her gun and a cold shower. Moira’s striking red hair catches the light as she takes a step forward.

“You’ve felt it too I suppose,” Moira’s upper lip curls, “and you always did hate conflict.”  
  
Angela narrows her eyes, “excuse me?”  
  
“Overwatch,” she says shortly, “I imagine you like it even less now as it begins to,” she hums, “fester.”  
  
Angela shoots her a warning glare, “Doctor…” She says with her own amount of danger, “I hope you haven’t been reading too much into the newspapers.” She sniffs loudly, “public opinion is fickle.”  
  
Moira gives a laugh like an empty hallway with rusted cans being thrown down it, bitter as a shot of wheatgrass. “Trust me,” she laughs again, “I am all too familiar with that sentiment Angela.”

Her eyes go wide, “then you know what they are saying about Overwatch is far from grounded in reality.”

Moira looks at her nails, “They aren’t saying anything new.”  
  
Angela’s face heats up, “no. But now it’s nothing but…” She takes a sharp breath, “nothing.”  
  
Moira tuts at her, her presence feeling as steady as a plague, but also like it might disappear the second Angela reached out to touch it. So she doesn’t. She stands perfectly still as Moira walks languidly forward, her slim figure cutting a silhouette against the glowing machines around her.

Her broad shoulders box Angela in as she hovers over her.

“Oh Dr. Ziegler,” her hand reaches out with a crooked grace, “the brightest young mind of her generation. Ph.D. at age 23. Brilliant as a box of TNT in a forest fire.” It felt like she was slicing her open with her eyes, “you are the only thing that ever made Overwatch even halfway decent.”  
  
Angela backs up with her feet faltering underneath her, she finds the back of her work table, she chooses her next words carefully, “I am flattered by that doctor, really.”  
  
“Don’t be,” Moira was baring her teeth like a snarl, “you should at least recognize that the rest of these imbeciles would be dead a thousand times over without a mind like yours behind them.”  
  
Angela shakes her head, “they are the ones out on the front lines. It’s the least I can do in order to save lives.”  
  
Moira blatantly rolls her eyes this time, “and you don’t even carry around your gun yet, of course of course.”

Angela opens her mouth but Moira lifts one long hand and one of her bright yellow nails trails down her cheek.

“They are…” Angela gulps, “They need us. I do my best.”  
  
Moira leers down, “Need, yes.” She cups Angela’s chin and forces her face up, “but do they deserve you?” Moira’s eyes were fiery dagger tips, “they line themselves up to be felled again and again with their imperfect, flawed ways, doing nothing different, never improving. Mercy.” She scoffs, “Our beautiful Mercy.” She bears down on her, “But for how long?”

Angela lifts herself up and puffs her chest out, “as long as it takes.”

She pets her face once more, she croons, “they know nothing of you.”  
  
Angela scowls at that and heat raises into her head, “And you do?”  
  
She shrugs loosely and Moira’s gaze lingers on her mouth, “I know enough.”

She shakes her head, “I think you should leave doctor.”

Moira’s eyes travel up the full expanse of Angela’s body, licking its edges and worn out bits- tired and crooked from hunching over her numbers and formulas. Moira takes her all in.

“Say it,” Moira whispers, “I see it in you, I know it in you.” Her volume was raising, “Say you're sick of their folly. Of their stupidity. Of their error. You know it!”

Angela pushes back, “I think you should leave doctor!”

Moira’s other hand rolls down the side of Angela’s body and feels her side the way she touched the paper, “is this all?!” She roars, “is this the great.” She grits her teeth, “talented.” Moira’s face screws up in fury, “Doctor Ziegler?!”

Angela raises her hand up and hisses through her teeth, “It is.”

Moira’s features relax into cold disdain, “what a complete waste.”

_Crack_

 Angela strikes Moira across the face with an open palm.

She seethes, “I’ve read your papers on progress doctor,” Angela straightens her lab coat, “they are second rate at best.”  
  
Moira doesn’t pause at the sting, she grabs Angela’s wrists and glues her hands to her waist before pushing her up against the table again. Her face is pushed inches from Angela’s, “there’s a heat in you Angela, that resentment. Those feelings aren’t going to go away.”  
  
“This isn’t a pretty look for you Moira,” Angela spits back, “jealousy has always made you ugly.”  
  
Moira hovers ever closer, her voice becomes low and drawn out. “I would crawl into your skin and remake this terrible horrible world a thousand times over.” Her eyes were perfectly in line with Angela’s. She sees something. “I would redo every inch.”

“So you can own it?” Angela says dryly.  
  
Moira’s mouth twists, Angela sees something there too. “ _So_ that mind of yours is finally put to use. So this damn species stops making the same mistakes again and again like stupid children.”  
  
She furrows her brow, “I think you miss the point.”  
  
Moira holds her more tightly, “I think you know exactly what I’m saying.”  
  
She narrows her eyes, “leave.”  
  
She laughs, “make me.”  
  
With her hands pinned against her sides and her hair falling loose from her ponytail Angela surges forward and pushes their mouths together. She wished she hadn’t seen anything.

The heat overcomes her and Moira’s mouth presses heavy against hers, nimble and experienced as it bruises her own like a tidal wave. Angela groans and pushes back.

Her mouth is all movement and sharp teeth, it’s barbed wire and the sweet smell of something overly ripe. Of chemicals and smoke. She kisses her with the force of her shaking insides.

Moira holds her wrists more firmly and nips at her bottom lip to let her in, it’s quick and dirty as their breaths mix in the dimness of the lab. The buzz surrounds them like an aphrodisiac and Angela forgets the turning of her thoughts for a moment.

She feels Moira against her, tongue darting inside and lapping the roof of her mouth, she feels her hands traveling up and down her body and the edge of the table digging into her back. Moira releases her for a moment to lift her up against the wall.

“Tell me Angela,” she pets her cheek again, “are you really as much as a slut as the papers say you are?”  
  
Angela shakes her head ‘no’ earnestly and immediately regrets it, as if she wants her to think well of her.

She sniffs, “You wear one halloween costume…”  
  
Moira laughs, “Sssshhh. I know.”  
  
She begins kissing her again, this time with her hand traveling lower and lower, the other one lifting her shirt up inch by inch from the bottom. Angela shivers from the exposure but felt her body already hot enough to heat the room by itself if it wanted to.

“Ah,” she gasps silently as Moira quickly puts a hand between her legs. Angela is torn between telling her to wait to save her own proprietary or simply take every inch of her right here and now.

“There we go beautiful.” Moira bites Angela’s ear before blowing on it, “there.” Her voice was thick now and dripping with the loving extension of vowels of curves of an Irish bite.  
  
Angela rocks down on the fingers rubbing her through her jeans, “there!”

Moira is mechanical and practiced in her movements, measured and bringing it down to an art as she palms her through her slacks and lets the friction build within her center.

“Ah,” Angela can feel her insides coiling quickly, she didn’t know what she was doing to her.

Moira takes her mouth again and builds up the speed until Angela is moaning into her lips and riding her hand helplessly, her clit rubbed roughly into a dull wet heat.

“Brilliant,” Moira kisses her, “I’ve read every single one of your papers you know.”  
  
Angela rocks down and feels the sweat roll down her back, “is this really the time?” She pants.  
  
Moira fiercely pushes back Angela’s loose hair and forces her head up, “I wouldn’t lower myself otherwise.” She bites her throat and Angela can feel the build shimmering just below the surface.

“Oh,” she arches.

“Pray.” Moira sings and bites her neck again harder.  
  
“Moira,” she lets the name slip out of her lips with a heavy gasp- perhaps that was the romantic in her wiggling it’s way up.

She feels her toes curl and Moira fastidiously milk her through it with her fingers rubbing her raw and loose. Angela arches until her mind becomes a blank white board with crackles of bright fireworks.

She cums in her best work pants against a dirty lab wall and feels her body uncurl like a pleased cat. She is warm and heavy with emptiness for a long moment.

The warmth retracts itself and Angela is left boneless across the strewn table.

Moira tucks Angela’s hair back behind her ear before stepping away again, “here.” Moira tosses her gun at Angela’s feat, “don’t be a stupid girl after this.”  
  
Angela can only blink up at her, “mmm.”  
  
“And don’t tell anyone you saw me.” Moira turns around, “be good doctor.”  
  
Angela can barely straighten her shirt and sit upright, “where are you,” she forces the words down, she searches her face, “this doesn’t mean anything.”  
  
“I know.” She snaps, “clean yourself up.”  
  
Moira is gone in a puff of dark smoke and Angela suppresses a deep shiver. She felt sticky and bruised in ways she didn’t want to think about.

Angela watches the thin air in front of her and only dimly realizes an hour later that many of her formula pages were missing.

She can only wipe at her brow and try to get lost in the chemical smell and new numbers to drop on the page. She ignores the long shadows as they wax and wane.


End file.
